PLEASE NOTE that this story has been heavily revised and reworked since the first version was posted. New material has been added, and a lot of the old stuff has been changed drastically.

Author's note: This is a story that I've had on my mind for quite a while but never got around to write until now. Slightly AU in that Jazz is a Decepticon, otherwise it's G1. Prowl/Jazz later on.

Warnings: Story contains slash.

Disclaimer: Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way.

The little yellow car cheerfully drove ahead of Prowl, as if he thought that their pace was too slow and things needed to speed up a bit. The tactician barely took any notice; he was used to Bumblebee's youthful impatience and eagerness.

"Oh, by the way, Prowl, you think we can all go to that car show they've been advertising for when Prime gets back?" the Volkswagen asked, revving his engine slightly.

"Maybe. We'll have to see," came the distracted answer.

When Prime gets back.

Up until now, the thought hadn't bothered him, but now there was something that nagged him about his leader's eventual return from Cybertron.

Because he knew what it meant – once Prime was back and got to ask Jazz a few questions of his own, they would arrange to have the saboteur sent away.

He knew it wasn't something he should be concerned by – quite the opposite, it would be a load off his shoulder no longer having the responsibility of looking after a prisoner, atop of all his other duties. But somehow, Jazz had become part of his everyday routine, and the idea of suddenly removing that felt distinctively... odd. He had gotten used to all those sessions with the saboteur – listening to him talk about his views on various topics, then in turn defending the Autobots' way of doing things, letting his optics track the tantalizing shape of Jazz's armour as it curved towards...

He swerved.

"Hey, is everything okay?" Bumblebee asked, having noticed his patrol partner's less than optimal steering.

"I-it was nothing," Prowl answered, voice shaking slightly. "Just a... rock."

"Alrighty, just checking!" The little Volkswagen happily sped off again, leaving a smoky cloud of dust in its tracks.

Just what on Primus' afterburners was he thinking? It was highly inappropriate, to put it mildly. Even coming onto Prime himself would have been less outrageous than this.

But he knew it, knew what a part of his processor had been occupied with as he had been in Jazz's cell. Not the first few times, of course, but slowly, imperceptibly, it had started to focus on something else entirely, no matter how much he had tried to ignore it or deny it.

As if the acknowledgment was enough to finally unleash the beast from the depths it had been lurking in and allow it free reign, a picture of Jazz started to take shape in his processor. His armour was shining and there was a smile on his face – ironic, considering how precious few times Prowl had seen anything even resembling a smile on that perfect face.

It was wrong. So wrong. He tried to force the slavering beast back into its chains, but it refused to let itself be tethered again, having tasted freedom.

He was a tactical officer. Second in Command. An Autobot. How could he feel himself drawn towards a Decepticon? The mere idea was ridiculous, preposterous, outrageous.

And the worst was, it was also true.

As if he could somehow speed away from his thoughts, he raced after Bumblebee, trying to catch up to the little Volkswagen that could now only be hinted at the horizon.

So he would get sent back to Cybertron and put into some Primus-damned prison camp, would he?

Well, he supposed it was still infinitely better than getting permanently off-lined as he had been fearing. Not that Prowl seemed like someone who would lightly condemn somebody to death, but perhaps his fellow Autobots, Prime included, would have differing opinions regarding how Decepticon prisoners should be dealt with. At least he would have the chance to escape from a place like that, and the opportunities and odds for a successful endeavor would probably be better than in his current situation where he was the only prisoner in an entire base full of Autobots.

Not to mention, regardless of how long his captivity would last, at least he would be surrounded by his comrades in the meantime, while trying to figure out a way to escape. Surely that had to be vastly preferable to sitting in here with only a pile of book files as a barrier between himself and mind-numbing monotony?

Well, that and Prowl's frequent visits.

Somehow, he had grown so used to them that the thought of being without them seemed strange, like a glaring discrepancy that shouldn't be there.

Odd. It wasn't as if he would miss their regular sessions, even if he had been a mech to enjoy routine, right? And what else could there possibly be to miss?

Prowl?

Prowl sat staring into the wall of his office, optics unseeing.

His former bondmate was long dead, having, like so many others, been killed in the war.

Killed by Decepticons.

And here he was, lusting after none other than a 'Con? What was wrong with him? Had he no shame? How could he disgrace the memory of his dead bondmate like this?

Still, for all those years that had passed ever since, this was the first time he had ever felt anything resembling what he had felt for him back then.

Perhaps that was why it had taken him so long to recognize the feeling – he had almost forgotten what it was like. That, together with the painful awareness of how inappropriate the entire concept was, had kept him from acknowledging it to himself. But he could deny it no longer.

And the question remained, poking and prodding at him with ungentle fingers – just how could he have fallen for someone like Jazz? A Decepticon?

Although, Jazz wasn't like any 'Con Prowl had ever had the misfortune of meeting. As delusional as some of his ideas were, at times he seemed more like an Autobot than a Decepticon, if one went deeper, managed to see behind his faction symbol. And...

He straightened up, trying to get a hold of himself. This was ridiculous. The sooner Prime came back and Jazz got sent back to Cybertron, the better. Then he could continue his normal life, undisturbed by these silly ideas.

Desperate for something else to occupy his mind with, he grabbed hold of a report and frantically started to scan through it, his processor not really registering a word.

Jazz studied Prowl as the tactician spoke. He hadn't seen the Autobot for a while now, and had almost started to wonder if he had gone away on some mission or the other. Normally, he wouldn't let so much time pass between his visits.

Somehow, he seemed different from his usual self. As if there was something weighing him down or bothering him.

Well, not that it was any of his business. Or that he would ever ask the tactician about it.

Despite that, Prowl's presence was as strong and imposing as ever as he paced around the cell, explaining what was wrong with the Deception take on the desired relations between Cybertronians and other races and planets.

To his dismay, Jazz couldn't help but find himself more or less agreeing with the tactician. He'd been doing that an awful lot lately, even if he hadn't said so out loud.

How un-Decepticon-ish.

Somehow, the thought bothered him less than it should have. He was more distracted by the other mech that was moving around as he spoke, voice unwavering and decisive.

It was amazing to him how Prowl was a mech of so many contradictions. Passionate about his cause, yet so calm and composed. Strong and powerful, yet so controlled.

So different from his Decepticon comrades.

The tactician gestured with a black hand, and the motion caught Jazz's optics. His gaze followed it as it cut though the air, punctuating a word here, a sentence there. As it finally fell to his side, Jazz's optics continued to trace upwards, over Prowl's arm, his shoulder and torso, reveling in the sight of the lustrous armour, the powerful frame, the perfect shape of the metal plates...

For a moment, he wondered. What would it be like, having those arms around him, wrapped around his own form, pulling him tight...

He stopped short.

The thought was ludicrous. Not to mention, treacherous and a travesty to everything the Decepticon cause stood for.

But his faction leader wasn't here. And neither were any of his comrades. The only one here was Prowl, his aesthetically structured form seeming to grow until it filled Jazz's entire vision.

Wow. If the tactician had any idea what was going through his captive's mind, he would probably stomp off and never come back. Or he would laugh. Or get angry. Or snarl in disgust. Or perhaps all of it.

Well, it wasn't as if the tactician would ever find out. Slowly, hoping the other wouldn't notice, Jazz edged towards the end of his cell, trying to put as much distance between himself and Prowl as possible, hoping it would stop his meandering processor.

It didn't.

The tactician sat at his desk, irritably typing away at a report. He had hoped that deliberately diminishing the frequency of visits to Jazz would have served to dampen the inappropriate thoughts that were haunting his processor, but it hadn't. If anything, the absence from the saboteur had only served to pour even more fuel onto his already blazing fire.

The time had come to put an end to this. He would no longer go see Jazz unless it was absolutely necessary. And then, when Prime came back and the prisoner got sent away, he could resume his normal life and focus on his duties again.

Yes, that was what he would do. Still, there was one final visit he had to make. Recently, they had received intelligence that the Decepticons were building what appeared to be some sort of energy-harvesting device or the other. Perhaps Jazz knew something about that. He needed to check.

Yes, he would go ask about that, and then never come back.

Jazz leaned against the wall, sighing softly to himself. Despite the total lack of other things to occupy himself with, the pile of book files in front of him no longer held any attraction.

He was thinking about other things. Prowl. The Decepticon cause. How much that had once, so long ago, seemed so black and white, but had now blurred into various shades of gray.

How his entire worldview had been tilted by a particular mech. And in more ways than one.

He couldn't put into words what it was about Prowl that was drawing him in now that he had finally admitted to himself the state of things, but there was something that made his spark flutter whenever the reserved Autobot entered his cell. And he knew that his reaction had nothing to do with fear – it had already been quite a while since he'd stopped fearing the tactician.

Not long ago, he would have laughed if anyone had told him that he would end up falling for an Autobot, and their Second in Command, no less. Even in the Decepticon army, something like that would have been unthinkable. While such feelings were not explicitly prohibited, everyone was well aware of the inadvisability of showing them openly or admit to them. It was common knowledge that they made a mech weak and showed that he was not proper Decepticon material. And yet, here was, unable to stop his processor from trying to conjure up its own pictures of the tactician whenever he wasn't in the cell.

Such a ridiculous notion. It wasn't as if it would – could – ever lead into anything.

He shook his head to himself, as in disbelief of his own silliness. This was inane, insipid, and any variations thereof. Here he was, a Decepticon prisoner, about to get shipped off to some prison camp on Cybertron any day, and he was thinking about his jailor? He almost wanted to laugh at the absurdness and utter impossibility of it all. As if he could ever have Prowl, in any way whatsoever.

Of course, his processor told him gleefully, if he had been an Autobot, things might have been different.

But he wasn't, now was he? And so, he would have no choice but to accept that nothing would ever come out of this.

No, nothing at all.

"Well, surely it must be obvious by now that what your struggle has achieved so far is nowhere close to what your glorious visions have pictured. Doesn't that suggest that something is wrong with the cause you've chosen to fight for?" Prowl said, unable to stop himself.

Really, he should have known better than to get involved in another debate with Jazz about Decepticon versus Autobot values and ideals. He should simply have asked his questions about the energy-harvesting apparatus and then left.

But instead, he found himself participating, yet again, in another discussion with his prisoner. Indeed, he should have known better.

Jazz knew that the other mech had a valid point – a bit too valid, as it touched upon things he was loath to admit, much as he knew them to be true – but he didn't really want to concede to that in front of the tactician. "Well, perhaps there are better ways of going about trying to make the visions come to life" – Jazz was surprised to find himself actually saying such a thing out loud, suggesting that Megatron's way of doing things might not be optimal. But then again, he had in the last few days said many things to Prowl that he would never have dreamt of saying in front of another Decepticon. Strange, when you thought about it. – "but that doesn't mean there is anything wrong with them as such. Even if we're still far away, we're not gonna get there by sitting around doing nothing. And we probably would have been a lot closer to getting there if..."

He stopped himself mid-sentence. He had been about to say if it hadn't been for you Autobots, but he didn't want to provoke Prowl so he left the words unsaid.

Prowl picked up on the gist of the unspoken words anyway as it was quite obvious what Jazz had been about to say. "Yes, if it hadn't been for us Autobots stopping you." he filled in. He took a step towards Jazz, who was standing leaning against the wall. "And as long as there are any of us left, we will continue to oppose you. Even if there is only one single Autobot left, our cause will still remain alive!"

The intensity radiated from the Second in Command as he stepped closer. Jazz wasn't surprised; the one thing that seemed to get the otherwise calm and controlled Autobot at least marginally excited was talking about the Autobot cause and the values he was sworn to protect. That seemed to be what the 'Bot valued more than anything else, even more than his own life. He couldn't help but feel his spark make an odd little jump at the sudden closeness of the other mech. A part of him wanted to instinctively take a step back, while another one wanted to move in the opposite direction. In the end, neither impulse won over, and he remained on the spot, as if his motor functions had suddenly ceased working.

Prowl took a deep breath. There was no point in getting all emotional in front of the Decepticon. It wasn't as if he would really understand the importance of Autobot values anyway. Better to just drop the subject and have the conversation go off in some other direction. And just how had he ended up standing so close to the other mech in the first place?

He tried to take a step back, but something stopped him, as if Jazz had been a powerful magnet halting him in his tracks. Instead, he remained standing, unmoving, optics unable to tear themselves away from the black and white form in front of him.

Time seemed to freeze for a fleeting moment, a moment that seemed like it went on forever. The two just stood there, silent and unmoving, their gazes locked onto each other. The closeness was overwhelming, and Jazz's visored optics were drawing him in as surely as had he been pulled by strong chains. Prowl only stared, mesmerized.

The tactician had no idea how it happened, but as if by their own volition, his fingers suddenly reached out for that smooth cheek in front of him. He didn't mean to touch it, he really didn't, but it was as if his body had acquired a mind of its own, disregarding the intentions of its master. Like a human child that did know better, but still had to reach out and touch that candle flame because the sight of it was far too tantalizing not to.

The metal was warm and pleasantly smooth against his fingertips. Spellbound, he traced them gently over the gray cheek, amazed at how such a simple act could make his entire circuitry tingle.

It was as if his control of his body had been taken away from him, and he had been relegated to merely watching the acts of another being from behind his optics. And he stared in shock and amazement as the mech that was supposed to be him slowly leaned over and placed a kiss on Jazz's mouth.

The kiss was light and hardly more than a meeting of lips, but its warmth and tenderness was nevertheless amazing.

The moment Prowl's lips met with his, Jazz's processor decisively felt as if it was no longer working. Just what the... ? Was Prowl playing with him? Mocking him? Had the tactician somehow sensed his laughable, ridiculous feelings and was now making fun of him?

But it didn't seem in character for the tactician to do such a thing... And the kiss was gentle and felt surprisingly... honest. There was no trace of mockery or ridicule that he could pick up on.

It was strange – for all the secret, inappropriate thoughts that he had entertained in private regarding the tactician, he was at a total loss at how to react or what to do. He had never in a million years expected something like this to happen, and now that it did, he seemed utterly unable to do anything at all. Not to mention, he had never for a moment even considered the possibility that the other mech might have had similar thoughts.

The gentle, almost chaste, kiss was sending shivers up and down Jazz's back. His mind reeled at the unbelievable situation, while his fuel pump was suddenly beating at least twice its normal speed.

It was as if he had somehow slipped into recharge and was having a bizarre dream. That was the only reasonable explanation for what was going on. But Prowl's touches and the kiss they were locked in were definitely real, no doubt about it.

Slowly, Jazz's shocked confusion started to melt away. Bizarre as the whole situation may be, hadn't he been fantasizing about this, laughable as he had thought the idea to be?

Trembling slightly from the sensations that were laying a claim to his body, the saboteur kissed back, and was about to put his arm around the other mech's waist, when Prowl suddenly pushed him away, a horror-struck look on his face. Jazz just stared at him, dumb-founded yet again.

"I apologize, I didn't mean to..." Prowl said backing away, voice shivering. Then without looking back on Jazz or saying another word, he quickly exited the cell.